


cheap steak for my fair lady

by ebi fry (Elliasinism)



Series: prayers before the meal [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/F, Gen, after your friend died, but alas i am cursed to never do anything on time, tfw your murder gf invites you to a date, this was supposed to be for p5 girls week day 4, traitor haru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 11:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliasinism/pseuds/ebi%20fry
Summary: On November 21st, Okumura Haru invites Nijima Makoto to dinner.
Relationships: Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru
Series: prayers before the meal [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137539
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	cheap steak for my fair lady

Mundane. _Horribly mundane_.

Each direction is the clattering of utensils, the scent of tropical fruit shakes, and the chattering of people.

They’re families, talking about their days and what to do.

They’re students, talking about what a drag Monday is and _did you hear about the delinquent_?

Makoto takes a sharp inhale, the smell of barbecue hitting her nose.

It sits heavy on her lungs with no indication of leaving.

She tucks her hair behind her ears, takes another whiff of the barbecue, and finally looks at the girl before her.

Haru sat there lovingly; cutting the steak drizzled with barbecue sauce with cheap cutlery.

She’s elegant in her posture and the way she moves her hands.

Her deft fingers cut the steak, her knife easily slicing through the overcooked meat.

The meat was brown along the edges and faded pink in the middle. Too cheap. Exactly 1,200 yen cheap.

Swiftly, she picks the cut meat with her fork and eats it.

She chews a little, swallows, and picks her fruit juice to drink.

Neat and pretty and elegant.

Haru sees Makoto watching her every move and smiles; a smile so dignified the whole restaurant looked extremely cheap.

Opulent. _Horribly opulent_.

“Something the matter, Mako-chan?” Haru asks, a cute crease forming on her forehead. She giggles a little when Makoto doesn’t respond.

Makoto never tires of that laugh.

It sounds oddly like strawberry shortcake - pretty and cute and really sweet.

But if she were to be entirely honest, it sounds more like a mouse.

A mouse raised by a very wealthy owner; spoiled with luxuries and all the food it could eat.

A mouse who’s lived in an extremely homely cage, decorated by expensive furniture it does not want.

The mouse squeals. No one hears.

Haru gestures at the fruitea in front of Makoto, “My treat!” she says, clasps her hands together.

Makoto stares, unmoving, shoulders taut with wires that could snap easily.

Haru lowers her hands, smiles, gentle, _oh so gentle_.

Sweet and beautiful,

undeniably Haru.

Makoto breathes in the smell of barbecue.

For a moment, she’s Nijima Makoto again, not the Student Council President - not Queen. She's hanging out with her girlfriend in the Shibuya diner, eating cheap steak and trendy drinks their allowances could cover.

For a moment, she forgets the weight sitting heavily on her shoulders,

the knife lodged in her throat,

_a bullet between the eyes._

Makoto looks at the drink, sees the trail of water dripping down.

The ice clinks.

A beat.

“Why,” Makoto says.

Haru tilts her head to the right, holds her right cheek with her right hand. “Why?” she asks.

Makoto looks at her nails, polished pink; then her hands, plump and fair, suits a lady like her.

“How,” Makoto asks, meets Haru’s eyes. “How could you?” _with those hands? Those very beautiful hands?_

Haru sits straight, puts her cutlery down, closes her eyes. “I,” she said, tone cold and business-like, not unlike the Haru Makoto knows - _her_ Haru, “did what I needed to do.”

The sound of chattering.

Students gossiping about Miss Kawakami’s odd behaviour,

Takamaki’s melancholic demeanor,

Sakamoto’s lethargy,

the transfer student’s cat,

the delinquent.

Makoto breathes, once again, the scent of barbecue starts rotting in her lungs. “Was everything a lie?”

Haru shifts, looks at her 1,200 yen steak, presses her hands on her lap, “No,” she mutters, “no, I truly love all of you.”

Makoto creases her brows, Haru chuckles, doesn’t meet her eyes.

“The thieves are like family to me,” she starts, her voice sickly sweet and sounds awfully like the bitter truth, “Ren-kun was like a brother - he cared, I saw it, he truly did. And somehow, I found myself caring, too. And, you, Mako-chan.”

Makoto swallows.

Her voice, barely a whisper, like a dandelion fluttering in the wind, “It wasn’t a lie.”

Her eyes stay on the cheap steak, looking less appetizing by the minute.

The ice clinks, the fruitea looking more water than juice.

Makoto shuts her eyes and breathes - struggles to keep the decay, fists her hands on the table, “Then _**why?**_ ” she demands - _begs_ \- Haru to look her in the eyes. “Why did you do it? How could you?!”

More chattering, a waitress taking an order, a child crying.

Haru still does not look her in the eyes.

Makoto heaves and buries her head in her hands, tries hard to not let the tears fall.

A fool, whether it be her or her lover.

She tastes copper in her lips. There is a sting in her eyes.

Haru pulls her hands, worried hazel eyes meeting a violent red. “It’s not your fault, Mako-chan,” the executioner says, with hands that held a bloodied axe gripping hers.

Hers that held the gavel, sentenced her friend to his death.

She bites her lower lip.

“Mako-chan,” Haru says, slowly, like talking to a wounded animal, “I pulled the trigger. I did it. I killed our friend.

“It was easier than I expected, actually,” she laughs without mirth, Makoto cringes, “In the Metaverse, it was fun, euphoric even, seeing them struggle and beg. These,” she waves her hands, “trash of society, begging for mercy, begging for something they deprived a great many of… I enjoyed it.”

"Even...?"

Haru nods, an unnerving smile on her face, "Even father."

Haru picks her knife, stabs the steak, no juice oozes out. “The hardest part was looking him in the eye,” she says without preamble. Makoto sucks a breathe, Haru chuckles, “But, in true Ren-kun passion, after looking a bit surprised, there was nothing else." she looks at the cheap piece of meat beneath her knife, at her mercy even in death. "Were we still friends, I wonder? I should have asked.”

Makoto watches as Haru picks up the steak, bites it. “It was easier than assembling a gun. It was also louder than I expected. Oh, it was actually easier to see him as Joker more than Ren-kun, did you know?”

 _Ren and Joker_ , Makoto idly wonders, so easy to talk to one rather than the other. She looks at her lover, a knowing smile on her face.

“Silly question, of course you do,” Haru chews on her steak. “After all, Ren-kun was...” Haru stops, smiles glass, looks at Makoto, “Ren-kun was our friend…”

Her small stature was trembling, a weight she shouldn’t be carrying resting on her shoulders.

Her hands polished pink, stained red. Hands that pulled the lever of the gallows they led their friend to.

Hands too young to look hardened, layered with foundation to hide scars.

Makoto looks at her own; hers that tied the noose.

Warmth envelopes her, she looks to see Haru, still smiling knowingly at her. Sweet and gentle and still so _undeniably Haru_.

Tears fall, “I don’t know,” Makoto sucks in through her teeth, charred barbecue lacing her tongue, “Haru, Haru, I don’t know.”

Haru tucks her hair. “I know,” she whispers, “it’s okay.”

“It’s unfair,” Makoto sobs, “This is so unfair.”

 _Why_ , she thinks, _Why is it so unfair?_

Haru traces circles on her back, Makoto staining her pink uniform with salt.

And Makoto thinks she’s being selfish, caressed by her friend’s killer - the killer who needs more embraces than her.

An embrace she gave and thought would suffice, an embrace that ultimately meant nothing.

All the worth she thought she had, the place she needed to protect, crumbling before her,

Always at the tip of her fingers,

Never at her reach.

Useless.

And Makoto curses herself as she clings to the lady killer, finding in herself to get mad, to _rage_ , but not to never forgive.

A lady before a hitman.

A child before a monster.

Haru before Ren’s killer.

And when her tears have dried and Haru has ceased worrying, Makoto takes her near forgotten glass of fruitea.

For her throat of decay, painted a garden by Haru, shredded by Ren,

For worries she wishes to forget, a happiness she would never reach,

Makoto drinks.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be for day 4 - violence/villains au QwQ but my monke brain does not check prompts beforehand and i had to spend the whole day asleep ehe
> 
> also, i suppose i do like the 11/20 bad end, huh?
> 
> thank you for reading >:3


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